Accidents Happen
by singingisfun
Summary: Based on this prompt: I need a fic where Emma and Killian had an 'oops' baby, and years later, the same thing happened again.
1. Chapter 1

He nearly stumbles over her as he exits his apartment, freezing in place at the sight of the woman who, for all intents and purposes, has dominated his thoughts for the last six weeks.

He'd searched for her after that night, gone back to that corner bar for two weeks straight hoping she would reappear but, alas, she hadn't, and since the only thing he'd had to go on was her first name there had been no way for him to track her down.

And now she's here, standing on his doorstep, looking just as stunning in an oversized sweater and a messy bun as she had all those weeks ago in a tight pink dress and sky high heels.

"Emma," he stammers out, a little louder than he intended due to the shock rolling through his body.

She immediately takes a step back to put distance between them, holding out an envelope and saying, "I was going to leave you this."

There's a rim of red around her eyes and he wonders for a moment if she's been crying. When he tries to ask her in, she refuses, pushing the envelope into his hand and disappearing down the hallway before he can stop her.

In a daze, he wanders back into his apartment, gym visit completely forgotten, staring at his name scrawled across the envelope. He glances back to his now closed door like somehow it will hold the answers to all the questions whirling around in his head before ripping at the paper.

 _She's pregnant._

He reads the letter 3 times.

The first time the only feeling he has is complete shock.

The second it hits him – she's _pregnant_ – he's about to become a _father_. And it surprises him how much he likes the idea.

The third time is when he notices the tone of her words. It's all business. She's not asking for anything, just thought he'd want to know. It's completely up to him if he wants to be involved or not. She'd understand if he wanted a paternity test.

It rankles him a bit, the way she states everything so cut and dried. Especially when he reads the post script… And just in case he was worried, she'd also had a full panel of tests done and he has nothing else to concern himself about.

 _Really? What kind of man does she think he is, anyway that he would even worry about a thing like that when he's about to become a father?_

The answer to that is clear: He's a man who meets a woman in a pub and takes her home without even learning her last name.

Or at least that's what she thinks.

She doesn't know how utterly captivated he was by her, doesn't realize the triumph he felt when he was able to pull a smile – a real smile – from her. In fact, of the many times he's thought of that night (and he would rank that in the hundreds) that moment is the one he remembers most clearly. Not to say what followed wasn't lovely, it certainly was, mind-blowing really, and it's not like he hadn't conjured those images as well (her kiss swollen lips, the sound of her sighs, the softness of her skin) but that moment when he'd admitted his favorite film was Peter Pan, when her eyes had sparkled and her grin was uncalculated, _that's_ the picture he's conjured most often. That's the image that had driven him back to that pub over and over again. And that's the image in his mind now as he looks back to the letter.

It's signed simply 'Emma Swan' and phone number.

 _Emma Swan._ It suits her.

He calls Liam right away to tell him the news.

His older brother's first reaction is concern. What if it's not his? What if this is a scam? How could he be so careless? Didn't he use protection?

"Of course, I did," he tells him.

Liam only grunts in response then asks, "When did this even happen? This isn't like you Killian. Oh, wait, is this the woman you called about a few weeks ago? The same one you were looking for when you drug me out to that pub?"

"Aye, one and the same," Killian responds, and dammit if he can't hear the smile in his own voice.

Liam mulls that information over before saying, "Be careful, little brother. You don't even know her. I know she fascinated you but things are much more complicated now. Just… Be careful."

Killian promises he will before the conversation turns into plans on how they can transform his office into a nursery. By the time he hangs up he's standing the middle of his extra bedroom/office picturing stuffed animals everywhere, a swing, a crib and a miniature rocking horse in the corner.

The next call he makes is to Emma, asks if they can meet, and they arrange for coffee at a little place around the corner from his flat the next day.

He's nervous but excited when he goes to the coffee shop. He tries on three different shirts before settling on a solid black button-down that he hopes exudes responsibility and support.

She's nervous, too, when they meet, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as they wait for their drinks. He offers to pay and she refuses. The message is clear: This isn't a date. This is a meeting to discuss how they're going to proceed.

She's all business, just like in the letter. He doesn't have to do this. She'll be fine on her own. She's not going to come after him for child support or anything. In fact, she pushes the idea so much he starts to think that's how she would prefer it and he has to cut her off by placing his thumb over her mouth to get her to take a breath.

So when he tells her, "I'm in this, Emma. This is my child, too, and I'm not going to walk away from that," he's surprised to see a flick of relief cross her features.

She covers it immediately, though, back to the business at hand and he doesn't push it because he can see the distrust in her eyes and, somehow, he knows if he pushes her, she'll retreat further. She gives him the date and time of her ultrasound and as they part ways he promises to be there.

He's not offended at her look of surprise when he shows up at her doctor's office. She doesn't know him, not yet anyway, but she'll learn. She'll come to understand he's in this for the long haul.

When the technician announces they're having a girl, his heart soars as he pictures a lass with hair of gold and sparkling green eyes. It isn't until the technician leaves the room that he realizes Emma's hand is in his, their fingers laced together like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"A baby girl," she whispers in awe as she continues to stare at the screen.

Her smile is radiant when she looks to him and he can't help but lean forward to give her a tender kiss on the forehead. The action seems to snap her out of her trance and she immediately pulls her hand away, averting her eyes and returning to her all-business attitude.

Two weeks later, he rushes into the hospital with his heart in his throat, Emma's frantic phone call on repeat in his ears. The amount of time he waits while the clerk is trying to find her room number is nothing short of torture but then he's running, charging through the assigned door to find her on the sterile white hospital bed looking so fragile and beautiful that she's in his arms before he can stop himself.

It takes her at least three times of telling him that everything is okay before it registers over the sound of blood pumping in his ears.

It was nothing, just some spotting and she panicked and she's sorry and the doctor said it's normal and she won't freak out again, she promises. But he can't seem to let her go as he leans his forehead into hers and clenches his eyes shut, his chest still tight even though she's telling him everything will be okay.

"I just got scared," she tells him, stroking his face with the backs of her fingers, "It's silly I know. Maybe the hormones are getting to me. I really am sorry to make you rush all the way down here over nothing except my paranoia."

"Stop apologizing, love," he says as he pulls back and brushes her hair off her forehead. "It's no trouble. I _want_ to be here."

Her eyes soften at his words and, damnation, he barely knows this woman but he's already half in love with her, had been since the night they met. He cups her cheek as she continues to stare at him and he sees something that looks like hope in her eyes. His heart rate speeds back up, but this time it's not fear causing it as he leans in toward her.

She averts her lips at the last second, clenching her eyes shut and shaking her head in what he can only interpret as regret as she grinds her forehead into his. "We can't do this, Killian," she whispers, but her actions defy her words as she clutches at the collar of his shirt to keep him close.

Their breaths mingle together, her lips so close he can practically taste them as he rubs his thumb softly against her cheek. "Why not, love?" he asks gently.

She doesn't answer right away and he can feel her resistance wavering so he waits, heart pounding in his chest, his whole body taut because he wants to close the distance between their mouths so badly. But he doesn't. This has got to be her choice, so he continues to stroke her cheek with his thumb in a way he hopes she finds reassuring.

"It's not that I don't want to," she whispers, still clutching at his shirt, "but I'm not good at this… I don't do relationships. And with you… We're going to be _parents_. You say you want to be part of our daughter's life. And I… I _want_ you to be. So if we try this and it doesn't work out…"

She trails off as she releases his collar and leans back to meet his gaze, and it breaks his heart, the regret and longing he sees mirrored back at him.

The moment is broken before he can reply when the nurse walks in with her discharge papers – not that he knows what to say anyway.

He walks her to her car when they leave, tension thick in the air as Emma turns to him, looking nervous. "Friends?" she asks.

Part of him wants to argue, he wants so much more than friendship from her, especially now that she has confirmed he's not the only one who feels this pull between them, but he sees the wisdom in her words. And she's right, they don't know each other that well and physical attraction is not worth risking the happiness of his child.

Still, it's with reluctance when he finally replies, "Friends."

Being friends with Emma is just about the hardest thing he's ever done. As the months pass and he gets to know her better, the want only increases. It takes a conscious effort to not let his eyes linger on her too long. It takes all of his strength to pull his hand away from her stomach when she shows him where the baby is kicking. And he has to resist the urge to run his fingers through that soft fragrant hair of hers every time he sees her.

And he sees her a lot.

He goes to every check-up, every test, standing beside her and forcing himself to keep his hand on the back of the doctor chair instead of wrapping it around her shoulders the way he wants to.

She's in her third trimester and Emma has a doctor's appointment today and he's running late because some delivery guy had his car blocked in this morning… and the coffee shop was busier than usual… and there was an accident on the expressway… and then he got caught by a train... So by the time he gets to the doctor's office he's winded and annoyed. He rushes into the waiting room and the sweet little receptionist who stammers most of the time he's around tells him Emma is already in one of the exam rooms. He doesn't waste any time, heading straight to the room and opening the door without knocking.

As he enters, carrying her precious hot cocoa with cinnamon which has probably gone cold due to all the delays, dammit, he immediately says, "Sorry I'm late, love, one of those mornings when nothing goes right."

He's busy stripping off his jacket as he says it but as he turns to her with her hot cocoa in hand, he sees the way she's wiping at her eyes and his heart jumps to his throat.

He's sitting beside her in the next moment, panicked, as he cups her cheeks. "Emma, what's happened? What did the doctor say? Is the baby alright?"

She's shaking her head and looking anywhere but his eyes. "The baby's fine. The doctor hasn't even been in yet," she tells him.

"Then why - "

He cuts off as understanding dawns on him and the confusion he feels hardens into something cold and heavy in his stomach.

She'd thought he wasn't coming.

She had assumed, again (because this is certainly not the first time she's looked surprised to see him) that he had abandoned her and their child.

Anger boils through his veins, the stress of the morning and the actual _tears_ on her cheeks adding to the already nagging annoyance he feels every time she looks at him like this.

But he's not angry with _her_ – because he gets it, he does. He's learned a few things about her over the last several months, not from things she's said – because she doesn't talk about herself often – but from things she _hasn't_ said.

She doesn't talk about her parents, she doesn't talk about her friends, she doesn't talk about her _past_. She talks about what she did over the weekend, about how she's tired of manning a desk at work now rather than being out in the field chasing down dirtbags who skip bail. She talks about her favorite movies or the annoying but sweet neighbor who brings her cookies and tries to get her to come over for dinner all the time.

And he _knows_ why. He started suspecting a while back but last week, when she'd finally agreed to let him come over to help her paint the baby's room, his suspicions had been confirmed.

He'd never been to her apartment before and as he took it in, everything had fallen into place.

There were no childhood trinkets or ratty old stuffed animals anywhere to be found. There were no pictures of family or friends. In fact, there were no photographs at all (save for the ultrasound picture that was stuck to her refrigerator).

On top of that, everything was impeccably neat and tidy, not one single thing out of place and very few frivolities – except in the baby's room. It was filled with everything a child could want or need, toys everywhere, a beautiful bassinet, a baby swing, a glider rocker in the corner.

She'd looked nervous about having him there, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet and saying things like, "I might have overdone it a little," or "I don't even know why I bought this. I'm not sure why a baby needs a bouncer _and_ a walker."

And he'd stood there, in the middle of that room watching her fidget in embarrassment, and he _knew._

She doesn't have a family. She doesn't have friends (although that neighbor of hers who popped by with more cookies while he was there would disagree). And she never has.

She's an orphan. Just like him.

But it was even worse for her. At least he'd had Liam – the one constant in his life. She'd had _no one_.

His heart had ached when he'd looked back to her, nervously rearranging the stuffed animals in the crib and doing her best not to meet his eyes. And it had taken everything in his body not to go to her and wrap her in his arms and tell her he understood, to tell her he'd done the same. He'd bought everything he'd come across because he wanted his child to have everything he hadn't.

But she'd been so tense, so wary of his reaction and his own emotions had been so raw over the realization that the only thing he'd been able to do was say, "I think it's perfect."

So when he looks at her now, he _can't_ be angry with her. Those tears on her cheeks are the same ones he'd cried over and over again when he was young, when he and Liam had gotten moved to another home, when he'd lain awake at night scared and wondering if the fact that he'd tracked mud into the house would be the reason they would be sent away again.

No, he's not angry with her. In fact, he realizes in that moment just how madly in love with her he is, can physically _feel_ his heart swell in his chest because of it.

He considers telling her, just blurting it out in the hope that it will help her get over the fear of him leaving but he doesn't because he knows it won't make a difference. Words mean nothing to people like them. Actions are the only things that matter.

Still, he needs to say something, and since he can't tell her what he wants to, he settles for telling her the thing that binds them. Something he hasn't talked about in years.

Steeling himself, he looks away and forces the words out. "When I was a lad my father abandoned us."

Her head snaps up immediately and she gasps in a breath but he doesn't look at her, instead keeping his eyes trained on the hot cocoa stain on his knee as he continues, "My mother died when I was an infant and then he left us when I was five."

Her hand gropes for his and she twines their fingers, squeezing tight. "I'm so sorry, Killian," she whispers, her voice shaking with emotion.

"Liam was ten at the time. We woke up for school one day and our father was nowhere to be found. We got dressed and went to school anyway, both of us sure he'd be home by the time we got back… That went on for weeks, coming home from school every day believing every time that he'd be there, that he'd return, but he never did. Then the food ran out and we didn't know what to do. We finally had to face the fact that he… that he wasn't coming back…"

He has to stop because his voice is about to break and he draws a shaky breath to cover it. He chances a look at her and the tears brimming in her eyes are almost his undoing, the understanding he sees on her face. He has to swallow hard against the lump in his throat and avert his eyes for a moment to compose himself.

Once he's regained a little control, he meets her gaze steadily and adds, "I'd never do that to my child, Emma. Never."

She doesn't say anything in return, but she blinks and the tears stream down her cheeks an instant before she's clinging to him, cradling his face in her neck and rocking him slowly in an almost maternal way.

He's not sure how long she holds him, but as she does he feels an unexpected peace settling into his chest.

Then her lips are at his ear as she whispers, "Our child is very lucky to have you as her father."

The words make his eyes sting and any reply he can think of is lost because he's not sure he can speak at the moment. So he just grips her tighter and hopes she understands what those words mean to him.

They're forced to break apart when the doctor enters but, after that, she never looks surprised to see him again.

It's a Tuesday night a six weeks later when she calls him and tells him she's having contractions.

He goes straight to the hospital as planned, barely avoiding several speeding tickets, and gets there just as Emma's sweet neighbor – Mary Margaret, was it? – pulls up to the curb with Emma in the passenger seat.

He helps her from the car and she smiles at him, the most radiant smile he's ever seen.

It's a welcome sight because the last couple of weeks had been hard on her even though she's been trying to hide it but he could tell every time he saw her how uncomfortable she was.

"Ready to meet your daughter?" she asks.

"Aye, love, I'm very ready," he replies with a smile of his own.

The next few minutes are a flurry of activity as they get checked in and the nurse does her exam. She's only dilated to three centimeters and the nurse warns them it could be a while yet.

And it is, progress goes slow and Emma gets more tense and irritable the longer it goes on. He does everything he can, feeding her ice chips, rubbing the small of her back, letting her grip his hand until he thinks the bones might break until finally the doctor announces it's time to push.

The screams of pain rip through his heart as he uses a cool cloth to wipe her forehead but then she twines her fingers with his for one last push and the next scream he hears is his daughter's wailing cry. Emma nearly collapses from the exhaustion but he holds her up by wedging himself behind her as they both stare in awe at the bright pink bundle of joy.

The baby is whisked away to be cleaned up and Emma's head falls backwards onto his shoulder. When he tightens his grip and hugs her to him, she doesn't shy away, in fact, she turns her head and nuzzles into his cheek and he swears his heart grows to twice its size in his chest from the overwhelming happiness he feels.

"Thank you for my daughter," he whispers into her ear and she responds by reaching back and cupping his cheek as she nuzzles into him again.

They bring the baby back, smelling of baby powder and wrapped in a solid pink blanket, and lay her in her mother's arms. It's by far the most profound moment of his life as he holds the woman he loves and uses one finger to stroke his daughter's cheek as she falls asleep to the sound of Emma's voice.

"Time to name her," Emma says softly.

"Aye."

"I've always liked the name Isabelle," she tells him.

"That's lovely, Swan, but I was thinking – and maybe this is a little sentimental of me – but I noticed the picture you hung in her room. The one that says 'Faith, Hope, Love…'"

"You think Faith?" she asks.

"No, actually, I was thinking Hope."

"Hope," she says as though testing it out, then turns to smile at him. "I like it."

He smiles back and then looks to his daughter, "Hope Isabelle Swan."

"No," she says as she snuggles closer into his chest and tightens her grip on their sleeping child, "Hope Isabelle Swan- _Jones_."

Emotion chokes him again and he can only press a long kiss to her temple in response.

Being a father changes Killian in ways he never imagined. He's amazed at how different the world looks now that he has a child to share it with. Suddenly things he's taken for granted for years are magical again because he sees them through his little girl's eyes. The sky is bluer, the sun is brighter, colors become more vivid. Simple pleasures like watching a flock of birds fly south for the winter or finding shapes in the clouds now top his list of favorite things to do.

But while being a parent has changed Killian, it's made Emma a completely different person. It's an amazing transformation to witness, the way her smiles come more easily with each passing day.

He and Emma fall into a comfortable friendship (and by 'comfortable' he means comfortable for her and acute torture for him). They work together as a team raising Hope, sharing snapshots and cute texts back and forth on nearly a daily basis.

She's incredibly generous with him in regards to spending time with Hope and never questions his love for his daughter. They are both so proud and anxious for each milestone, that they end up spending more and more time together as neither of them want to miss a single one.

When Hope is on the verge of walking, they spend every evening together for nearly two weeks straight until she finally makes the wobbly journey across Emma's living room floor. Hope has a hand in each of theirs during her first trip to the zoo where they snap several pictures of the three of them that he cherishes more than words. They worry together when Hope is sick, comforting her and rocking her into the wee hours of the morning and they cheer her on side by side when she blows out the candles on her birthday cakes.

But it's not only him Emma is being more open with. She also grows closer to her neighbor and even relents to Mary Margaret's prodding for a monthly 'girl's night' where she makes several other new friends. As for him, he meets Mary Margaret's fiancé, David, and he, Liam and Killian quickly start offsetting 'girl's night' with a monthly poker game.

He attributes Emma's change almost entirely to Hope. The child is bubbly and sweet and loves everyone and everything. She's the spitting image of her mother (except she inherited his blue eyes), beautiful and vivacious and he can't help but wonder if this is what Emma was like as a child.

He's more in love with Emma than ever but he keeps it to himself so as not to ruin this beautiful family they've created. Occasionally, he catches himself staring at her when she smiles, when she _really_ smiles, just like he had the night they met. It's a relief to him when he realizes those smiles are seen more and more frequently.

She's giving him one of those smiles right now as he walks back into her living room after tucking a very tired Hope into bed. They'd spent the day at the Children's Museum, six hours of walking through dinosaur exhibits and playing interactive games, after which they had stopped for pizza and ice cream.

"She's asleep?" Emma asks.

"She was asleep before I even laid her down," he tells her.

Emma chuckles lightly, "Yeah, she had a full day. Thank you for inviting me."

"Thank you for coming. It wouldn't have been the same without you."

She lowers her gaze as if she's suddenly nervous, leaning over to pick up a few stray toys off the couch and returning them to the toy box in the corner of the room.

He rocks back on his heels as he watches her. He knows he should leave but, like always, he wants to extend his time with her as much as possible. Sometimes, she'll offer him cup of tea or a beer after an outing like today and he knows he's stalling but he can't help it. So he picks up a few toys himself and meets her at the toy box to drop them in.

She smiles (shyly?) at him with a murmured, "Thanks," before shutting the box with a light click. As she turns away, she's wringing her hands together like she's not sure what she should do with them.

Killian's brow wrinkles in confusion as he watches her, completely confounded by her behavior. He's never seen her like this, nervous and jittery, and he's just about to ask her what's wrong when she speaks.

"Mary Margaret told me that you're planning David's bachelor party."

It takes him a moment to answer because something is going on here and it's starting to make him nervous but when she turns to look at him questioningly he clears his throat and replies, "Yes, well being the Best Man and all, it's my job. And you're planning Mary Margaret's bachelorette party, I hear. No worries, lass, I know it's my night to have Hope and I've already arranged a sleepover for her with one of the mothers from her class so that we can both fulfill our duties."

"Oh? Which mother?" she asks.

"Abigail's. You've met them before. She lives two stories down from me. She's a nurse and I've helped her out with Abigail a few times when she's had to work over, so she was happy to repay the favor."

Emma mumbles something under her breath that sounds a little like, "I'll just bet she was," but then she clears her throat and says, "Ruby said her mother would be happy to keep her, if we need it."

"While I'm sure Hope would love that, she's already excited about staying over with her friend, so maybe next time."

Emma makes another grumbling sound and shrugs her shoulders, "Well, it was just a thought… Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Ruby and I wanted to do something special and we need a, ah… co-conspirator from the men's camp."

Intrigued, Killian crosses his arms over his chest, wondering if this request is what's making her act so odd. "And what, exactly, would we be conspiring about, Swan?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow at her.

Emma's face lights up with a mischievous grin and his worry disappears. "Let's have a beer and I'll tell you all about it," she suggests.

They settle onto the couch a few minutes later and Emma tells him what she and Ruby have in mind. By the time Killian finishes off his beer he's smiling as well.

"Never knew you were such a romantic, Swan."

"I'm not," she replies with a roll of her eyes. "It was Ruby's idea, not mine."

"Uh huh," he says slowly, leaning his head in his hand and giving her a look that clearly says he doesn't believe her.

Her eyes dart away from his as she relents under his scrutiny, "Okay fine, maybe it was my idea. They've just been really good friends to me and I wanted to do something special for them."

His grin widens. "I do believe you've gone soft, darling."

She ignores his comment but he swears she's actually _blushing_. "So, will you help?"

"Of course I will, love. _I_ don't deny being a romantic."

"I know," she replies in a low voice as she reaches to take his empty beer bottle. When her fingers brush his, it sends an electric shock all the way up his arm and, dammit, what is wrong with him tonight? It was just an inadvertent brushing of fingers, so why does he feel like she did it on purpose?

He watches her disappear into the kitchen with his breath caught in his throat but when she returns, she gives no indication that anything has changed and by the time he gets home, he's certain he imagined the entire thing.

Friday night rolls around and he shows up at David's apartment sporting a fine bottle of rum and a box of cigars. They spend the earlier hours of the evening playing poker and jeering David as much as possible before his phone lights up with Emma's text.

Liam appears next to him and reads the text over Killian's shoulder.

"Time to set the plan in motion?" he asks.

Killian looks back to his brother, "Aye, the ladies will be there in 20 minutes."

Between the two of them, they'd managed to fill in all of the guests at the party about Emma's plan, and it's not long after that David is wearing a gold plastic crown and a ridiculously large pin on the front of his shirt that says 'Kiss the Groom.'

David puts up a momentary fuss over the blindfold but relents after Killian promises that what he has in mind will not endanger his impending nuptials. (David is one of the most honorable men he's ever met and he made Killian promise there would be no strippers anywhere in sight tonight.)

"Trust me, mate. I'd never lead you astray."

The music is pumping when they enter the club and he immediately sees Emma and the rest of the ladies near the back, Mary Margaret already receiving kisses on the cheek from several men in the room. The music is so loud that from here there's no way Mary Margaret will be able to hear him as he announces David's last night of freedom to the many ladies nearby and it's not long after that David's cheeks are covered in a myriad of lipstick shades as he receives one kiss after another.

He chuckles at the sight and leaves David in Liam's capable hands to move the next part of Emma's plan. It's been a while since he's been in a place like this and as he makes his way toward Emma and Mary Margaret he's caught completely off guard when a petite brunette collides into his chest with a fumbled apology that he immediately recognizes as a contrived act to introduce herself. Internally rolling his eyes, he apologizes for getting in her way while setting her securely back on her feet and continuing the journey across the club without giving her a second thought.

The DJ switches the music to a soft ballad when he takes Mary Margaret's hand and leads her to the dance floor just as Emma does the same to David. Soon the crowd figures out what's going on and join in, Mary Margaret and David being passed off from one person to another as they get closer and closer to each other. His eyes stay trained on Emma as he watches her smile at their friends.

She looks stunning tonight and when she meets his eyes with a huge grin on her face, it nearly takes his breath away. They both move back toward the newlyweds-to-be and sweep them toward each other for the last few feet. He spins Mary Margaret out of his arms and into David's, pulling off her blindfold in one smooth motion as Emma pulls off David's.

The couple startle for half a beat but then their faces light up as they share a sweet kiss to the applause of everyone in the club.

Killian continues to watch them as they lose themselves in the dance, foreheads meeting and eyes closing in a gesture that speaks of the deep love between them and he can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at their happiness.

He feels someone tugging at his hand and turns to Emma as she pulls him toward the table where their other friends have gathered. As they watch the happy couple swaying slowly in the middle of the dance floor Emma's head lands on his shoulder.

Slipping his arm around her waist, he lets himself relish this moment of closeness with her. She's obviously drunk, and while it's not unheard of for the two of them to exchange moments of affection, he knows that part of the reason she's doing it now can be attributed to the occasion and the alcohol.

The song finishes and the crowd applauds again as David and Mary Margaret make their way off the dance floor and the music changes back to a thumping beat.

He and Liam are nominated to get a fresh round of drinks from the bar. As they head in that direction, the brunette who ran into him earlier makes a re-appearance. Liam seems keen on talking to the girl and her friends, so he does his best to make polite conversation for a moment so as not to spoil his brother's fun.

The next thing he knows, Emma is at his side, looping her arm through his and saying something about helping carry the drinks. Killian turns to Liam to get his attention and when he turns back the brunette is staring at Emma, looking pale and taking a hasty step away like she'd just been told to 'back the fuck off.'

Confused, he looks to Emma but she's all innocence.

When they make it back to the table with drinks for everyone, there are only two empty chairs. Liam takes one and Killian motions for Emma to take the other but she promptly ignores him, pushing him into it instead and settling herself on his lap. He places his left hand at the small of her back (no matter how much he'd rather wrap his arm around her waist and pull her closer) and squeezes the tumbler he's holding in his right until his knuckles turn white.

Liam and David both give him pointed looks from across the table that he pretends not to see. He knows they'll chide him about it later since they've both made it clear over the years that they know how he really feels about her but right now he doesn't _care_. Besides, it's not like Emma really means anything by it, it's just her way of being polite so he didn't have to stand while everyone else had a chair.

He quickly downs his rum because, bloody hell, he needs it, and when he leans forward to place his empty glass on the table, he upsets Emma's balance and she wraps her arm around his neck to steady herself. It doesn't go unnoticed by him (or Liam and David) that she leaves it there even after he has settled back into the chair.

Confusion strikes again as he sees Emma receive pointed looks of her own from Ruby and Mary Margaret and it's hard for him to tell since he's not exactly an unbiased party but he could swear the one Ruby gives her is one of approval – and dare he hope, encouragement?

More shots are ordered and he watches Emma take one after another. She's usually not much of a drinker but tonight she seems to be on a mission. In the back of his mind, it occurs to him that she's going to have a whopping hangover tomorrow, so he stops drinking, knowing that one of them will have to care for Hope.

The longer the night wears on and the more sober he gets, the more difficult it is to ignore the way Emma shifts on his lap, the way she leans further into his chest. It takes everything in him not to groan when she leans forward to put her glass down and her ass rubs against him, and he can't suppress it at all when she starts fiddling with the hair at the base of his neck.

He sees her home at the end of the night - there's no way he's letting her get into a taxi alone in her condition - still reeling from the feel of her body tight against his when she insisted he dance with her during the final ballad the DJ dedicated to the soon-to-be-married couple.

The ride to her apartment is torture. She rests her head on his shoulder and hums in satisfaction with a murmured, "You're so comfortable," that fills him with equal measures of tenderness and lust. He clasps his hands together in his lap in an attempt to keep them still and sits up straighter in the seat, his entire body taut as he looks out the window to distract himself.

She stumbles on the front stoop when they arrive and he has to all but carry her to the elevator. She hits the button for the wrong floor with a giggled, "oops" and then she's leaning on him again. When the elevator gives the initial jerk it does every time, she gropes for his hand and doesn't let go. He wants to write it off as nothing, but the looks he noticed between her and Ruby and Mary Margaret (and he noticed several) are still swirling in his head and he's suddenly not sure if it's just the liquor or something more.

God, he hopes it's something more.

He follows her into the apartment with some half-baked notion of getting her to take some aspirin to help with her hangover. They're both in the wedding tomorrow and Hope is the flower girl, so Emma will need to be as alert as she can be. She still hasn't released his hand and he uses that to pull her toward the kitchen even as she starts straight for the couch.

'I want to sit down,' she whines.

'Soon, love,' he promises.

She's leaning heavily against the counter while he opens the pill bottle and when he places the aspirins in her hand she sways enough that he snakes one arm around her waist to steady her. As he fills a glass of water one-handed, she takes the opportunity to burrow her face into his throat, pressing her nose into his skin with a murmured, 'Mmmm, you smell good."

The water glass nearly overflows when his eyes fall shut at the way she rubs her nose into the column of his neck but he catches it just in time.

'Here, Swan,' he says in a strangled tone, 'take your medicine like a good girl.'

She reluctantly pulls away and takes the medicine. As she lowers the glass, she meets his eyes over the rim, studying him.

"Thank you for taking care of me," she says while placing the glass in the sink.

Her playful demeanor is suddenly gone, her voice steady but her eyes still glassy, and he's not sure anymore just how drunk she actually is.

Scratching behind his ear, he replies, "You'd do the same for me, Swan."

She shakes her head at that. "I'm not just talking about tonight," she tells him. "You're always there when I need you and I don't thank you nearly enough. I know you do most of it because of Hope but - "

"I do it for both of you," he cuts her off.

His interruption seems to confuse her for a second but then her eyes soften and a smile flitters across her lips as she closes the distance and meets his mouth with more accuracy than he thought she possessed at the moment.

His arms encircle her automatically, his first instinct more primal than common sense, and he kisses her back because he just _needs_ to, he _needs_ to feel her against him, if only for a moment. So he lets her lead his lips into a passionate and slightly reckless kiss that has his senses reeling and his blood humming before common sense wins out.

When he grips her by the shoulders to put a few inches of distant between their bodies, the groany whine she makes is almost enough to make him pull her back and damn the consequences but she sways on her toes and he can't overlook her current state. She wouldn't be doing this sober and, dammit, no matter how much he wants her body, he knows it will never be enough to have her just because her judgement is impaired and maybe she's feeling a little vulnerable because her best friend is getting married.

Still, when her hands grip at his collar with a whispered, _please, Killian_ , and pulls his forehead to hers, when her lips seek and find his again on a long moan, he's helpless to stop her. He may be a gentleman but he's no bloody saint and the temptation of Emma's soft curves pressed into him are more intoxicating than every shot she had tonight. She drags him back under for a long kiss that has all the blood in his brain rushing south so fast that Emma gasps against his mouth when she feels it against her thigh.

The sound reverberates in his ears, breaking through the lust induced moment and he attempts to push away again.

"Emma…"

With a strength that belies her slight build, she grips at his arms to keep him from putting more than a few inches' distance between them and he can't seem to force himself to widen the gap because her eyes are full of wonder and it makes his breath catch as she holds his gaze, something soft and dreamy in the jade depths.

"Do you remember the night we made Hope?" she asks softly.

His heart constricts in his chest because _of course_ he bloody remembers. He thinks about it on a daily basis, dreams of it nearly every night, but he hesitates because he's terrified that admitting it will endanger everything they've worked to build. _If_ she remembers this conversation tomorrow will she look at him differently? Push him away? Or worse, look at him with pity? He's not sure he could handle that.

But the way she's looking at him right now, eyes wide and open and on him, reminds him of just how incredible it was. Then he remembers that brunette backing away… _Had_ she given her a warning glance? And he remembers the approving look Ruby gave her, the way she'd played absentmindedly with his hair and how she'd tucked her body into his while they danced.

So he takes the chance as he clenches his eyes shut and leans forward to rest his forehead against hers, his voice clogged with emotion when he replies, "I remember every detail, love."

Her body actually shivers at his response and then she whispers, "So do I… I remember everything."

The groan that escapes him feels like it's being ripped out of his lungs and his heart starts beating so hard that the sound nearly drowns out her next words.

"I dream about it sometimes… about what it was like to be with you."

"I dream about it, too," he admits in a low voice because there's no point in denying it now. Even if she _is_ only saying it because alcohol has loosened her tongue, he can hear the truth in her words and she deserves his honesty in return.

Whether she regrets it tomorrow is something they'll have to deal with.

But, right now, she seems thrilled with his confession and her hand moves to the back of his neck so that she can direct his mouth back to hers. He gives in immediately, the emotions running through his system making it impossible to push her away.

He's so lost in her that he doesn't realize she's backing him up until he hits the couch. Her hands are everywhere at once, yanking and pulling on his clothes, her fingers making contact with the bare skin of his chest and raking downward toward his jeans. It feels like absolute heaven but then she stumbles and nearly knocks over the lamp and he's reminded that she's not herself. She's drunk and no matter how much he wants to believe she wants this as much as he does, she's not in the right mind to make this decision.

"Emma," he breaks away from her mouth long enough get the words out. "Emma, we can't do this."

"Why not? You want me, don't you?"

"You know I do, Swan, but – ah…"

She cuts him off by rubbing her hand over his throbbing erection and he loses his train of thought because _bloody Christ_ it feels so good.

"Emma," he tries again, "please, darling. You're drunk and we can't…"

He catches her hand and she groans against his mouth, "But I want to. I've wanted to for a long time and I've just been too scared to tell you."

He's pushed one step further to insanity because she sounds like she's telling the truth and _damnation_ he wants to believe it… but it doesn't change the fact that even if she is, she apparently needed to get drunk to finally admit it… and that's _not good enough_.

"Tomorrow," he gasps, hearing the pleading tone of his own voice, "tell me this tomorrow. I want you, Swan. All of you. And if we do this and you regret it in the morning I... Tell me this when you're sober and clear headed and I promise, I'll give you everything, everything I have to give."

She continues to stare at him for several more heartbeats, her expression unreadable, before stepping out of his arms. He feels the loss like a physical blow and for a moment he almost snags her back. Then she turns and walks to her bedroom without saying another word.

The next day is a flurry of activity getting ready for the wedding. He picks up Hope and delivers her to Mary Margaret's apartment where Emma and Ruby have gathered to help the blushing bride. Ruby answers the door and he only gets a flash of Emma as Hope rushes excitedly to the dress she'll be wearing today. Emma's hair is pinned up in rollers but she still looks breathtaking and she only has time to offer him a tremulous smile before Ruby pushes him out the door and tells him to go meet up with David.

The wedding is beautiful, set in a quaint little chapel that Mary Margaret picked out, and his heart swells when Emma smiles softly at him as she walks down the aisle. He can't seem to take his eyes off her as she takes her place because he swears that look felt like a promise, but then Hope appears and his heart swells for a different reason. Pride and tenderness fill him as his daughter approaches, looking like a princess in her flouncy dress as she drops the petals behind her. She stops in front of Emma, where her mother's hands land on her shoulders and winks at her with a whispered, "Good job."

His and Emma's eyes meet again over Hope's head as the music changes and he knows he should be looking at the bride but he can't tear his eyes off her. She's smiling at him and she looks so beautiful and she's standing there with their daughter and all he can see are his girls, his family, and love fills his body in the most profound way and he can't wait to get her alone.

But he can't get her alone. Not yet, anyway.

The wedding goes perfectly and he watches David and Mary Margaret make their vows and share a kiss and then they're walking out. Emma takes his arm and squeezes as he escorts her down the aisle.  
She looks like she wants to say something but then they're both engulfed in people and she's called away to pose for photographs.

"Later," she says as she turns to go and this time he's certain: It's a promise.

During the reception, he tries more than once to get her alone but they're surrounded by family and friends who all seem hell bent on keeping them occupied. Even the dance they're supposed to share gets interrupted almost immediately when Hope wraps her arms around both of them and asks if she can dance with her daddy. He and Emma agree instantly and the next thing he knows cameras are flashing from every direction as he scoops Hope into his arms.

When the newlyweds get whisked away by a horse and carriage, Hope is slumping in his arms with her head on his shoulder as he rocks her back and forth, and that's when he feels an arm around his waist. He turns to see Emma waving to the couple as the carriage pulls away before she turns to him and asks if he can give her a ride home.

The look she's giving him warms his heart and then she absolutely stuns him by going up on tip-toe and brushing her lips across his, adding, "I've only had one glass of champagne."

She holds his hand as he carries Hope into the apartment and he helps her get their daughter ready for bed. She takes it again as she shuts Hope's door and leads him to the couch.

"I'm sorry about last night," she says as soon as they're both sitting and his heart sinks. Maybe he misread her looks tonight.

She's still holding his hand, her eyes on it instead of him as she uses her other hand to trace along his fingers.

"You were right. I was drunk and I never should have put you in that position."

"It's alright, love. We can pretend it never happened if you want," he says, trying to give her an out, and immediately regrets it when her eyes shoot to his and he sees hurt flash across them before she looks away.

"Is that what you want? To pretend it never happened?"

 _No!_

"God, _no_ , Emma. I just…"

"I told you a long time ago I'm not good at this," she interrupts him, "I'm not _good_ at… at talking about…" She stops to huff out a breath and he can see the internal struggle she's going through and he wants to wrap her in his arms and tell her it's okay, that she doesn't have to say anything but then she's looking at him and he sees her expression change to one of determination. "But I never… I never told you _why_."

He almost stops breathing because her words are laced with tears and he knows what she's about to say and even if he figured it out years ago, she's never talked about it and he would do anything to spare her this. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he also knows she needs to say it, she needs to tell him on her own terms, which is exactly why he's never asked.

So he keeps silent and waits as she takes a long, shaky breath and steels herself.

"I was abandoned as a baby. I was found on the side of a highway. My parents didn't even drop me off at a hospital."

He swallows hard at the red hot fury her words cause. _On the side of a fucking highway?_

"I was placed with a family – the Swans – and I lived with them until I was almost five years old. But then the wife got pregnant and they…"

She hesitates and the overwhelming fury he feels hardens into a tight ball in his chest and drops into his stomach because, bloody hell, she's not about to say what he thinks, is she?

"They couldn't afford a second child, so they sent me back."

His heart breaks in his chest, he swears he can hear it crack right in two, and he can't stop himself from touching her anymore. He pulls her forward into his chest and buries his hand in her hair, whispering, "I'm so sorry, Emma."

She's stiff in his arms, her hands pressed flat against his chest, caught there as he squeezes her closer wishing he could do something more.

"I was moved around a lot after that," she goes on, her voice shaky, "I was never in one place for more than six months until I aged out of the system."

When she puts pressure against his chest, he loosens his grip and she meets his eyes, tears caught in her eyelashes that she refuses to let fall.

"I never had anyone I could count on. Never. I was always alone… until I met you. And you… You _changed_ me. You made me want to trust you. When I found out I was pregnant, I almost didn't tell you. I was terrified because even that first night you made me feel things I didn't want to feel. But I couldn't _not_ tell you… And then you were there… every time I needed you, you were there… and I told myself it was just because you wanted Hope, not me, because _no one_ has ever wanted _me_ but I think maybe, maybe you do? And maybe – "

"I do, Emma. I do want you… in every way possible."

The smile that spreads across her face is the only encouragement he needs as he leans forward and brushes his lips against hers. "And I don't just _want_ you, darling," he adds as their noses rub together, "I _love_ you… more than anyone I've ever known – except maybe our daughter – and if you let me I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

There are tears back in her eyes but this time they're accompanied by a smile as she lifts a hand to his cheek and replies, "I love you, too."

His heart feels like it's flooding as he lets out a relieved sigh and then she's standing, tugging on his hand and leading him to her room.

Neither of them speak as they slowly remove clothing, worshiping each other with every touch, every kiss. Once they're completely bare, she cups his face in her hands and holds him there, looking at him like she's trying to see into his soul and then she smiles and surges forward to wrap her arms around his neck in a hug that nearly takes his breath away. He buries his nose in her neck in return and they stand there, locked together from head to toe, swaying slowly for a moment that fills his body with complete joy. There's not even anything sexual about it. It's deeper than that. It's an embrace that wipes away all the loss and heartache they've been through. It's a promise that neither of them will ever be alone again. It's tender and full of love and he never wants to let go.

When she releases him and takes a step back, she's still smiling but it's different, now she's biting her lip in a way that makes his cock spring to attention and, bloody hell, the woman can take him from zero to insanity in the space of a heartbeat. She falls back onto the bed and pulls him down with her and the tenderness from only moments ago is vanquished as her mouth finds his and she grips at his backside to tuck his throbbing erection against her center.

He lets out a strangled moan that echoes through the room and she chuckles with a quick warning about keeping it down so they won't wake Hope. He nods his agreement but then has to give her the same warning a moment later when she cries out while he's sucking at her nipple. It's a struggle for both of them as they roll over the bed, taking turns driving each other to distraction but they manage to stay fairly quiet.

They come together with a sigh, the relief of finally being together like this again unsaid, but seen in each other's eyes as they both stop moving to enjoy the feeling. When they start moving again, it's slow and languid and when she whispers she loves him, his heart feels so light that it might float right out of his chest.

Her body welcomes every thrust, her warmth surrounding him and her hips rising to meet him as they share one kiss after another. It's all consuming as they move together; long, deep, slow thrusts that keep the pleasure licking at the surface without pushing past it into needy. Her hands rub up and down his back, her nails lightly scoring his skin and he shudders. He grips at her hip with one hand and buries the other in her hair and she sighs.

It's more than he's ever felt in his life as they move together, leisurely exploring each other with their hands, skin gliding against skin in a rhythm so perfect that he wants it to go on for eternity. They keep their lips close, sharing long, wet kisses while their bodies continue the unhurried dance.

She says his name like a prayer, breathes it out against his mouth and he answers with her name as their hands meet and twine together. She gasps when he changes the angle slightly and it's only a moment later when she comes around him. He watches in awe as she bites at her lower lip and her body quivers beneath him even at this languid pace and it must surprise her too because her eyes pop wide open on his before she smiles and lifts her head to kiss him again.

When she pushes on his chest, he rolls with her and she keeps moving in the same leisurely way, clearly enjoying the aftermath of her orgasm as she hums in the back of her throat. She sits up and he gasps as he sinks even deeper into her and he's tempted to grab her hips and increase the pace but, fuck, this is so perfect that he just can't. So he rests his hands on her thighs and watches as she rocks above him, her hands moving up and down his chest, teasing at his nipples.

She's a bloody goddess and he groans, loudly and without restraint, and she leans forward to drink it off his lips. Then she's sitting up again and groaning loudly herself and he pushes up to return the favor.

Her arms wrap around his back to keep him upright as she deepens the kiss, her tongue teasing and tangling with his while her hips grind down into his over and over again. It's mesmerizing, the way they just _fit_ together, the way their bodies mold into one, the way they can keep the pace unhurried and the fire still starts shooting through his veins. She breaks the kiss on a gasp and throws her head back and, bloody hell, she's coming again and this time he's so close that the feel of her body quivering around him is enough to send him over the edge as well.

She doesn't let him go, in fact, she pulls him impossibly closer and wraps her legs around his waist as they come down. He plants one hand on the bed when she sways as her muscles go lax and she hums with contentment.

"Where are we going to live?" she asks.

His eyes pop open and he has trouble breathing because she doesn't mean…

Her eyes are still closed and she runs her lips across his forehead before she continues, "Your place is closer to Hope's school, but Mary Margaret and David are going to be living in her apartment now and it would be nice to have a couple of built-in babysitters a door away."

 _Holy fuck, she does mean it._

When he doesn't answer right away, she opens her eyes and, taking in what he is sure must be a completely dumbfounded expression, asks, "Too soon?"

The breath he must have unconsciously been holding whooshes out of his lungs and he surges forward to kiss her, burying a hand in her hair and tilting her head to the side so he can delve deep into her mouth.

When they come up for air, she smiles against his lips. "While I liked that answer, it really doesn't _answer_ the question. Where do you think we should live?"

But he still doesn't answer, saying instead, simply, "Marry me, Emma."

It's her turn to look shocked and it's her turn to kiss _him_ hungrily, her nails digging into his shoulders as she laughs out against his lips.

He grins as they break apart and leans back to see her eyes sparkling. "While I liked that answer, it really doesn't – "

"Yes!" she cuts him off.

They're both laughing as they tumble back into the bed, and he pulls her against him to tuck her into his side.

"I think we should live here," he whispers.

Two weeks later, they announce their new relationship status to their friends. Mary Margaret and David have just returned from their honeymoon and they all meet up at Granny's Diner for dinner one night. It's been torture keeping it from Liam but he and Emma decided to wait until all of their friends were together since they'd all been rooting for it for so long. He arrives first and claps David on the shoulder to welcome him home. Emma comes in with Hope about five minutes later and crosses directly to him. Neither of them say a word, she just throws her arms around him and kisses him for all he's worth.

He can hear the shocked gasps of their friends right before Hope speaks up, sounding a little bored as she says, "Yeah. They do that all the time now… and Daddy even bought Momma a new ring."

He and Emma break apart with a chuckle and he ruffles his daughter's hair while Emma holds the ring out to show Mary Margaret and Ruby.

Three weeks after that, he comes home to a quiet house. Usually, Hope greets him at the door and his brow wrinkles in confusion because Emma had texted him just an hour ago to ensure he'd be home in time for dinner.

"Darling?" he calls out as he walks through the living room. "Emma, love, where are you?"

He knows she's here because there's sauce simmering on the stove, so he continues on to their bedroom and sees her reflection in the mirror as she stands at the bathroom sink, holding something in her hand.

She's standing stock still, staring at the object in her hand and concern rockets through him.

"Emma? Is everything alright, love?"

She turns toward him but doesn't look up as she continues to study the… stick… in her hand… with a look of complete shock… and…

"Emma? Are you…" he shakes his head as if to clear it. "Is that a… a pregnancy test?"

When she finally looks at him, she's smiling from ear to ear as she says, "I guess we're batting a thousand, sailor."

He's smiling back instantly and then rushing forward to pull her into his arms.

"If it's a girl, I think we should name her Faith," she whispers into his ear.

"Faith, Hope and Love," he replies and rubs her nose with his. "That's perfect… _love_."


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Hello lovely readers! No, you're not seeing things. I'm back! Nearly two years later, I've finally finished the second part to this story - never say I don't keep my promises!**_

 _ **Many of you requested a follow-up and here it is... finally. It's the same story as the first chapter, only now it's from Emma's perspective. If you haven't read part one, you might want to before reading this one. I added some scenes and and expanded on some others and I really hope everyone enjoys it.**_

 _ **Thanks for all the incredible reviews and comments. And for those of you waiting for the next chapter of Changing Tides, I promise I'm working on it and I will finish that story as well (and like I said, I keep my promises - no matter how long they take).** _

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

Emma enters her apartment and immediately kicks off her shoes – the damn things have crushed her toes until she's afraid she might see blood if she looks down, but it was worth it. That bastard with the smart-ass mouth – ' _What would you know about family?'_ – is behind bars where he belongs and her checking account is thankful for it.

She limps toward the kitchen, stretching her aching feet with each step and carefully lays the bakery bag in her hand down on the counter. She empties the contents and grabs a lighter, placing the blue star-shaped candle precisely in the middle of her treat and lighting it.

"Another banner year," Emma whispers to her empty apartment, leaning over and watching the glow of the lone candle on her cupcake. She didn't buy a whole cake. Why would she when there wouldn't be anyone else to have a piece? This cupcake is the perfect size for someone like her.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

 _I wish I didn't have to be alone._

It's an impossible wish and she knows it. It's not like someone is going to come knocking on her door out of the blue. Still, she blows out the air in her mouth and opens her eyes. The candle is no longer lit, smoke billowing up from the blackened wick, and she stares at it for a moment, waiting for… something. Of course, nothing happens and she sighs to herself.

 _What a way to spend a birthday._

Huffing out a breath, she straightens and her eyes catch her image in the mirror across the way.

 _And what are you going to do about it, Emma?_ _she thinks in irritation._ _You know the only person who can do anything about it is you, so get your ass out of this apartment and_ do _something._

She picks a little bar she's never been to before. It's small and cozy and nothing like the meat markets she usually frequents when she's looking for company for the night. A quick glance around the room tells her maybe she should have gone somewhere else. The place is practically empty but she approaches the bar anyway and orders a drink because while some of her other haunts would definitely provide a variety of choices, she's just not in the mood to listen to thumping bass tonight.

The bartender is a sweet, portly guy who smiles appreciatively at her without leering. She likes him instantly. In between waiting on the few other customers in the place, he strikes up a conversation with her, telling her cute little anecdotes about his wife and daughter and she's suddenly very happy she picked this little hole-in-the-wall for her evening. It's laid back and easy and she realizes this is exactly what she needed, just casual conversation with another human being.

She's sipping at her second rum and diet coke when he walks in.

He's alone, which strikes her as odd because the guy is absolutely gorgeous, jet black hair and immaculately trimmed scruff, but she just figures he's meeting someone. He sits at the other end of the bar and orders a beer. When he glances her way, he doesn't leer either, which solidifies her suspicion that he's probably waiting on a woman.

The bartender makes small talk with him as well while the guy munches on some peanuts. He seems nice. Normal. Not some sleazeball out for a wild night of partying, just a guy waiting on his girlfriend while chatting quietly with the bartender and watching the basketball game on the TV behind the bar.

She smiles to herself when she hears the bartender start talking about his daughter's obsession with fairy tales and jokingly says that if he hears 'Let it Go' one more time he might throw his DVD player through the window. The guy chuckles softly and she doesn't know how it happens but suddenly she's sucked into a debate on which Disney movie is best.

The next thing she knows, the guy is sitting next to her defending Peter Pan's Captain Hook like he's personally affronted by the pirate's villain status. And for the first time in several years, she realizes she's actually smiling – not the calculating smile she uses to lure a mark in, not the fake smile she uses when she's on the prowl – but a _real_ smile, the kind that makes your cheeks ache because you can't seem to stop. And not only smiling but _laughing_ because the guy, Killian is his name, admits sheepishly that Peter Pan is his favorite movie of all time.

They move on to other subjects after that, the basketball game that's still playing, the recent storms that left half the city in darkness… She keeps expecting a woman to walk in and join him but the night goes on and no one shows. She's surprised and a little disappointed when the bartender announces last call because she doesn't want to give up his company just yet. He hasn't made a move, hasn't so much as casually put his arm on the back of her chair. So it's a complete shock when they're standing on the sidewalk outside, both waiting for cabs, that he surges forward and kisses her like he needs to breathe.

His eyes are soft (and did she mention stunningly blue?) when they break apart, his fingers running through her hair as their noses bump. She knows she's playing with fire when she suggests going to his place but, fuck it, it's her birthday and it seems she's gotten her wish to not be alone.

It's easily the most incredible one-nighter she's ever had.

His eyes burn with passion one moment and melt with tenderness the next. And it scares her because she's never felt something like _this_ before. She's never wanted to take her time and enjoy the foreplay he lavishes on her. She's never watched a lover's eyes as he slid into her or held his hand as the passion exploded through her body. She's never wanted to make it last like this or hold a man close afterward.

But she does tonight. Maybe it's because it's her birthday or maybe it's because of the way her body seems to _know_ his. Or maybe it's just those intense blue eyes or the way he calls her 'love' in that sexy British accent. But whatever the reason, she finds herself holding both his gaze and his hand when she falls over the edge.

After, he tucks her into his side and plants a tender kiss on the top of her head, his hand stroking up and down her back in a way that should make her panic but somehow doesn't. Instead, it makes her feel safe and precious. She doesn't remember drifting off to sleep but she awakes in the middle of the night with his arm still wrapped around her.

And that's when the panic sets in.

It feels _too_ good. It feels too _easy_. And that's a dangerous combination.

Quietly, she slips out of the bed and dresses, forgoing shoes because the floor is hardwood and she doesn't want to wake him. Still, she can't stop herself from watching him sleep for a minute. How he can still look that sexy even when he's snoring like a freight train, she'll never know, but it terrifies her even more because she's tempted to crawl back into the bed with him, especially when he makes a grumbling sound, flips over into the space she'd vacated and hugs her pillow with a sigh.

With more than a little regret, she silently makes her way out of the apartment, being sure to lock the door on her way out.

 **K &EK&E**

She thinks about him more than she should, considers more than once going back to that corner bar to see if she might run into him again. But she doesn't. Maybe if it had felt like just sex she would have been able to but, more often than not, she doesn't think about the sex. She thinks about his smile and the sparkle in his eyes and the way he'd helped her with her coat and –

No, it's better to keep it what it was: A birthday wish that came true. She doesn't want to ruin it by making it more than that. It was a rare and beautiful night and it's better to save that memory than risk the inevitable pain that would rain down if she tried for more.

Fate, however, has its own plan.

She waits two full weeks to buy the test. She already knows what it's going to say but she still can't help holding her breath while she counts down the seconds. It's the longest and shortest two minutes of her life.

When the second blue line pops up, her heart jolts with so much pure joy that it takes her by surprise.

 _She's going to have a baby._

She's going to have someone who is completely hers. A child she can coddle and spoil and share all of the wonderful things with that she missed out on when she was young. They'll go to the movies… and the park… and the zoo… and _Disneyworld…_ and it's going to be _perfect_.

She sighs happily when she settles into bed that night, realizing that her birthday wish not only came true, but somehow managed to turn into a _lifetime_ of having someone with her on her birthday. Inevitably, her mind drifts to Killian. She's going to have to tell him. A thrill creeps up her spine at seeing him again but then doubt takes root. Will he be happy? Will he be angry? Will he accuse her of trying to trap him? He's the one who'd supplied the condom so he can't really make that argument.

Maybe she shouldn't tell him. Maybe he's forgotten all about her. A man who looks like that would have no problem finding female company. He's probably had a dozen women since then.

And that thought brings on the next question. What if he gave her something other than a baby? If he did, she'd be obligated to tell him, wouldn't she?

The next morning, she goes to the doctor and has a battery of tests done. He confirms the pregnancy and also confirms everything else is fine. She doesn't know why, but she feels vindicated on Killian's behalf that he was clean. Her first instinct had been that he doesn't sleep around and she knows this isn't exactly proof but still…

But now she has to wrestle with the question of telling him or not. If she tells him, she'll have to see him. And if she sees him, she runs the risk of damaging an incredible memory.

But she _wants_ to see him. And that thought is absolutely terrifying. She _wants_ him to be happy with her. She wants him to be a father to their child because no matter how happy she is that she's about to be a mother, that scumbag she caught on her birthday was right: She doesn't know anything about family and she needs _help_.

She goes to his building one day and sees him walking out chatting happily with a woman and even though they part ways on the sidewalk, it's enough to make panic seize her. She stands stock still as climbs into his car, her mind inevitably calling forth all sorts of questions that she's not sure she wants the answers to. What if he doesn't remember her? What if he's involved with someone else? The memory is too good to risk. So she just stands there, paralyzed with fear and letting him drive away without saying a word.

She decides to write him a letter instead. That will work better. If he doesn't answer, she'll be fine and she won't hold it against him. She'll go on with her life and do her best just to be thankful to him for giving her this gift.

She works herself into a frenzy on her way over to his place – nerves and pregnancy hormones are a terrible mix – and as she clutches the letter in her fist, she can feel tears threatening.

When she makes it to his door she's suddenly paralyzed again, this time with indecision. Should she slip it under the door? Stick it in the jam? Under the door? In the jam? Before she can make up her mind, fate rears its head again and the door swings open in front of her, revealing the man who has dominated her thoughts for the past six weeks.

He freezes when he sees her, a gym bag slung over his shoulder, and breathes out her name (at least he remembered it) and she feels the tears sting even more.

He asks her in and she says something – she's not really sure what – then shoves the letter into his hand and makes a break for it.

She gets home without letting the tears fall and tries her best not to stare at her phone. She fails. Twenty minutes later when the unrecognized number pops up, she's so relieved that the tears threaten again, but she pushes them down and keeps her voice steady as they make plans to meet the next day.

She's so nervous that her palms are sweaty when she gets to the coffee shop. Her heart thuds when he walks in but she ignores it and takes a deep breath. She wants him to be happy… And she wants it a little too much. Once they sit, she barely lets him get a word in because she knows if she stops talking, if she looks into those piercingly blue eyes, she won't be able to hold it together. So when he presses his thumb to her mouth and tells her he's in this, his voice low and adamant, relief floods her veins before she can stop it. He's looking at her with tenderness, his thumb warm against her lips and it takes her a second to remember what she was saying.

Oh, right, she was going to tell him the date and time of the ultrasound.

She doesn't hear from him again until he walks into her doctor's office a few weeks later and she can't deny she's shocked to see him. He notices, of course, but he doesn't mention it, instead taking the empty chair next to her with a reserved smile and a quiet, "How are you feeling?"

His smile isn't so reserved when the technician leaves the room – _they're having a baby girl!_ – and she panics because her hand is in his and she doesn't even remember putting it there.

(Never mind the warmth that flooded her when he pressed a tender kiss to her head.)

The next time she sees him, he's the one in a panic. He bursts through the door of the hospital room and practically crushes her in his arms. She tries to calm him, telling him it's okay but he doesn't seem to hear her.

She'd overreacted when she'd seen the blood that afternoon (pregnancy hormones must cause temporary insanity) and she'd been frantic when she'd called him because the thought of losing this baby had spiraled into an all-out anxiety attack. She'd be alone again if that happened. She wouldn't be able to lay in bed at night and talk to her stomach anymore. She wouldn't be making any more plans for the future – because for the first time in her life, that's what she's been doing, planning for more than a week or a month at a time. Now, she's planning _years_ in advance.

And now, seeing him in nearly the same state she'd been in earlier, floods her with both guilt and affection, so she strokes his cheek in an attempt to sooth him, apologizing and telling him that the doctor said there's nothing to worry about. But he still doesn't release her, his forehead pressed to hers and his breath coming in harsh pants against her lips. She closes her eyes and leans into him and it's amazing to her how much better she feels just having him by her side, having someone to worry with and take comfort from.

"I just got scared," she tries to explain, "It's silly, I know. Maybe the hormones are getting to me. I really am sorry to make you rush all the way down her for nothing except my paranoia."

"Stop apologizing, love. It's no trouble. I _want_ to be here."

He pulls back to look at her and his eyes are filled such truth that hope floods her system, leaving her paralyzed when he leans toward her mouth.

It's one of those moments in time that freeze, one of those moments when everything stills to a halt and blurs at the edges of your vision because the importance of what's happening in front of you takes over and nothing else matters. She gets caught in it for a second, his lips drifting closer even as his eyes search hers, giving her plenty of time to turn away. And, at the last second, she does because it _terrifies_ her how much she wants to, how much she already needs him.

"We can't do this, Killian."

He stiffens for the briefest moment but he doesn't pull away and she realizes it's because he can't – her traitorous fingers have curled themselves into his coat. She clenches her eyes shut, but doesn't release him, the warmth of his breath on her lips too good to let go of just yet.

He doesn't seem to mind and, if anything, his touch becomes more tender, his fingers tracing along her jaw.

"Why not, love?" he asks, his husky voice threatening to send a shiver down her spine that she barely manages to hold at bay.

He's still perfect in her eyes, he's still the kind, attentive stranger she met after that jackass called her out for knowing nothing about family. He's still the man who made her birthday an incredible memory instead of a night of loneliness and despair. And if she risks this and she messes it up, it's going to break her. She wants him to _stay_ perfect. And more than that, she wants him to stay in her _life_. But at the same time, she wants to kiss him so badly that her heart stutters in her chest. So, she keeps her grip firm and grinds her forehead into his, indecision holding her frozen while his thumb strokes lightly against her cheek, the unspoken plea a direct contrast from how tense the rest of his body is as he waits for her decision.

"It's not that I don't want to," she surprises even herself with her honesty, "but I'm not good at this… I don't do relationships. And with you… We're going to be _parents_. You say you want to be part of our daughter's life. And I… I _want_ you to be. So if we try this and it doesn't work out…"

She can see the conflict simmering in his eyes when she eases back, still clutching at his collar, but before he can speak the nurse walks in to discharge her.

His eyes dart in her direction at least a dozen times as he walks her to her car, the air tense. So she breaks the silence before he can, asking if they can be friends. She holds her breath while she waits for his answer and she can tell he doesn't want to agree but in the end, he does and she's not sure if she's happy or disappointed.

 **K &EK&E**

Having Killian Jones as a friend is probably the best thing that has ever happened to her. He listens intently to everything she says, even when she drones on about stupid things like movies and grocery shopping. (And if the fact that her system goes into overdrive every time she shows him where the baby is kicking, that's her problem, not his.) He makes her laugh when she complains about sitting behind a desk at work and he even offers to help her paint the baby's room.

The night he comes over is nerve wracking for her. She's never had a man in her apartment before. In fact, outside Mary Margaret, she's never had anyone over before (and the only reason she lets _her_ in is because the woman is a force of nature). And it's not until he's standing in the middle of the baby's room that she realizes how overboard she's gone on the baby items and toys. But he just looks at her in that reassuring way and tells her it's perfect and the tension leaves her in a rush of relief.

As it turns out, it's kind of nice having a man to help move furniture and set up ladders and, really, she's the size of a bus and she won't admit it but she should have done this months ago. They work well as a team, him meticulously painting the borders with a steady hand while she rolls the walls and it's not long before she's laughing because she glances his way to find pale pink paint stuck in his eyebrows. He laughs too and then he does that eyebrow raise thing that usually sends electric shocks through her system but this time he looks so ridiculous that she just laughs harder. In fact, she's laughing so hard that she almost doesn't hear the doorbell when Mary Margaret stops by to deliver some cookies, telling them both they deserve a break.

Two weeks later, she enters the waiting room of her doctor's office and is surprised that Killian isn't already there. The man has got to be the most punctual person she's ever met and he's never once been late before. She takes her usual seat and picks up one of the baby magazines off the table, telling herself not to worry, that he'll be there soon. But as she waits, her leg starts to fidget, the ingrained insecurities creeping up her spine. By the time she's called back to an exam room, her heart is pounding, glancing toward the door in an almost desperate way.

He's not coming. She _knows_ he isn't. He's finally figured out that she's not worth the effort. He's finally decided that her crazy mixed signals are more trouble than he's willing to deal with. She's going to be alone again; she's going to have to figure out how to raise a child by herself. And she's going to fuck it up, she's sure, because she's a mess and she's got no idea what she's doing and she's pushed him away and one day she'll have to explain to her daughter why her father isn't around and it's _her_ _fault_ because she's –

The door swings open in a rush and there he is and she's hit with a wave of relief so intense that she can't breathe. He's saying something, but she can't hear him over the hollow buzz in her ears and it's mortifying because she's crying – _crying_ over a man she barely knows because she already _needs_ him, him and his stable presence at her side, him with his kind eyes and reassuring words.

He doesn't miss the tears – of course he doesn't, he notices _everything_ – and guilt eats at her while she frantically dashes them away even as he bolts across the room to sit next to her, panicked because he's worried that something has gone wrong with the baby. She keeps her eyes averted when she tells him the doctor hasn't been in yet and tries her best to get herself together, the strong hand on her jaw only serving to make her eyes sting worse.

An abyss isn't deep enough for her to crawl into when she sees the understanding cross his features but he doesn't get angry – even though he has every right. Instead, he draws a deep breath and then he's telling her about how his father abandoned him and how he and his brother didn't believe it and his voice breaks and it's so close to her own story that she freezes, her heart aching and her hands shaking. He doesn't look at her as he speaks but she can't look away from him, the pain in his posture and her own memories bubbling to the surface and threatening to choke her.

After he finishes, he finally meets her eyes, and they're nearly black with intensity. His hand is gripping hers, locking their fingers together. "I'd never do that to my child, Emma. _Never_." And in all her life, she's never believed anyone more. Hope and gratitude mix in her chest and then she's hugging him, whether to thank him or to comfort him she's not sure, but she does know she _never_ wants to let go.

He hugs her back, burying his face in her neck and when she replies, she puts every ounce of conviction she can in her voice. "Our child is very lucky to have you as her father."

His arms tighten, seemingly at a loss for words, and she finds herself very disappointed when the nurse comes in and they have to break apart.

 **K &EK&E**

He's nearly giddy during those last few weeks, calling her every day he doesn't see her just to check on her, to make sure they have a plan in place for when she goes into labor. He's smiling like a fool when Mary Margaret drops her at the hospital, and she is too, excitement to see their child outweighing the contractions.

But it doesn't last. The contractions get more intense and holy _shit_ , how stupid was she to do this without drugs? Because her body is being _ripped in half_ and she's not dilating, and this kid is _never_ going to come out. She tries to be brave at first, tries to keep quiet when the contractions hit but after _hours_ of intense labor she gives up, allowing the shouts free reign, no matter how guilty it makes Killian look. To his credit, he stays for every single one, standing steady beside her even when she shoots daggers at him. In fact, the more irritable she becomes, the gentler he gets, doing everything he learned from reading those damn baby books to make it easier on her.

Finally, it's time to push and she knows she's squeezing his hand too hard but he doesn't even flinch, supporting her back when the pain tears unrestrained screams from her throat. Everything fades out, and just when she thinks the agony is never going to end, she feels the relief of her daughter finally greeting the world. Time freezes, the image of her baby girl filling her vision and it's all she can do not to weep with joy. Because this… this moment… it's everything she's ever lived for, everything she's ever dreamed of and her heart fills with so much happiness that, for the space of several heartbeats, it overshadows the pain.

She hears Killian's gasp from beside her, his hand in hers strong and steady and _right._ But then the baby is swept away to be cleaned and weighed and the exhaustion returns in full force. She swears every bone in her body hurts, her muscles useless as she collapses back onto the bed; but Killian is there to catch her, his chest lined up behind her to keep her upright so she can watch the nurses clean up their little girl.

His arms come around her waist, his breath gentle next to her ear when he thanks her for his daughter and she reaches back to wrap her arm around his neck, overwhelmed with gratitude that he's here, that he stayed through the entire thing and put up with her. His arms tighten when they bring the baby back and she can't see his face but it's easy to imagine that soft glow in his eyes when he strokes the back of his finger against their daughter's cheek. It's pure beauty, this moment, euphoria and love warming her from the inside and Killian's gentle embrace warming her from the outside.

He suggests Hope when they discuss baby names and she nearly tears up again. Because it's perfect. Because _hope_ is exactly what he's given her – just like he gave her this beautiful baby – so she agrees instantly, snuggling closer into his arms. She realizes in the next moment that he's near tears as well when she tells him she wants his last name included, and she closes her eyes when he kisses her temple, so content and happy that her heart swells.

 **K &EK&E**

Being a mother is terrifying at first. She frets over every decision. (Should she spring for the hypoallergenic diapers just in case? Is this swaddle too tight?) She even goes so far as to worry over the idea of putting Hope in her car seat the first time she needs to go to the store for fear that they'll get into an accident during the five-minute drive. Which is why she's so relieved when Killian knocks an hour later sporting three grocery bags filled with every single item she'd dictated to him right down to the specific brand of baby rash ointment she'd insisted on.

She expects him to be annoyed at being appointed her errand boy, but he's smiling wide when he walks in. He takes the bags to the kitchen, then instantly disappears into Hope's room. After she's unpacked everything she crosses the hall, leans against the door frame and watches him gently run his finger over Hope's bald head, humming a soft melody as he does it.

He misses her, she realizes. It's been three days since she got out of the hospital and he hasn't been over since he dropped her off so, naturally, he jumped on any excuse to come by. Her eyes well with tears and she turns away, heading back to the living room while she yanks her emotions in check. Of course, he misses her. He'd spent nearly every waking moment at the hospital with her and, when he'd brought them home, he'd stayed to help, even going so far as to send Emma to bed for a nap so that she'd be rested for the inevitable overnight feedings.

It's a bit later when he wanders into the living room, looking slightly disappointed and somehow, she knows exactly why.

"She went down about ten minutes before you got here," she tells him apologetically.

"Yes, well, she's sleeping like an angel," he says, his eyes lowering to the carpet and rocking back on his heels. Silence descends for a moment and then he shuffles around, scratching at the back of his ear. "Is there anything else you need? I could – "

"You can stay," she interrupts. "You don't need an excuse. Have a seat and I'll throw together some food. I'm starving."

His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas and then he's motioning for her to sit back down. "No, let me. I make a mean chicken and vegetable linguine." When she hesitates, he hurries on, "You've been forfeiting your sleep to feed our little girl. The least I can do is feed you in return."

She's a little shocked she manages to hold in the choked sound that threatens to escape. _He cooks, too? How is he even real?_

"Sure, but I don't have…"

"Oh, no worries, I got my own groceries while I was shopping for yours. Just let me run to the car and grab them." He practically skips to the door and it's not until he walks back in that she realizes she's been starting at it the entire time, completely dumbfounded at how perfect he is.

She follows him into the kitchen and starts pulling pans out, intending to help, but he shoos her away, telling her to relax. "All the parenting books say you should sleep when the baby is sleeping, Swan. Go rest, I've got this. I'll fetch you when it's ready."

She capitulates easier than she usually would. Having a man putter around in her kitchen is not something she ever would have thought to allow before, but she's exhausted and he's already humming again, rifling around in the drawers until he finds the cutting board and carving knife.

It's _not_ a desire to hear him singing softly that has her muting the TV when she settles on the couch and it's _not_ because she's imagining how amazing it would be if this was actually their life. She's just taking his advice: Sleep while the baby sleeps.

(But that doesn't account for the smile she wears as she listens.)

It's dark when she opens her eyes again, the smell of something delicious filtering through the air. She walks to the kitchen to find two full plates of uneaten food going cool on the counter before she hears the soft murmur of his voice coming from Hope's room. She enters just as he applies the second piece of tape to the diaper he's just changed and watches him brush his nose over Hope's forehead.

"There's my little lass," he whispers to her, "feel better now that you're clean and dry?" Hope gurgles and he nods as though she's answered in the affirmative. "Good."

Gathering his daughter up, he turns and spots her in the doorway and a grin breaks out to match her own. "And how about you, love? Feeling better now that you're rested?"

"Yeah," she replies, surprised at how throaty her voice sounds. "Thank you."

"Well, why don't you feed this wee one while I warm up our dinner?"

"Okay," she agrees.

When she joins him a few minutes later, he's got the table set and has moved Hope's swing to the space in between their chairs. He spends the entire meal with a happy smile on his face and his eyes on his daughter while she describes every mundane detail of the last three days.

And, yeah, the man can definitely cook. She polishes off the plate and even uses a piece of garlic bread to soak up the remaining sauce, drawing his gaze when she moans at how incredible it is. His eyes darken with outright greed for an instant, his tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip, but he covers it immediately, averting the dazzling blue back to Hope.

Three months later, he shows up again at her request, this time with a prescription bottle and, strangely enough, a bouquet of flowers. (How on earth did he know it was her birthday? Because she's sure she's never told him.) He sets the flowers on the table without a word and pulls a fussy Hope from her arms, heading straight to the kitchen to measure out the bubblegum flavored antibiotic and coaxing Hope to drink it. Her frayed nerves are completely forgotten as she stands in the doorway, her eyes flitting between him and the flowers.

"How did you know?" she asks.

He turns, a bit distracted as he wipes the dribble of pink medicine that Hope didn't swallow from her chin. "Know what, love?"

"That it's my birthday."

His eyes shoot to hers and his brow furrows. "It's your birthday?" he asks in surprise.

The intensity of his gaze is unnerving and she shuffles. "Yeah."

"I… I didn't know."

Her stomach drops to her shoes, realization blooming that the flowers aren't for her. She must have interrupted a date or something.

He's staring at her with a wrinkled brow when she finally has the courage to look at him, Hope perched on his shoulder while he idly rubs her back. Then, inexplicably, his face morphs to a tender expression, his words soft when he replies, "I got them to celebrate the anniversary of… Well, it was a year ago today that we… met."

Understanding dawns on her, not just about the flowers, but why Killian's eyes are suddenly so full of compassion and empathy. He's just realized how she spent her last birthday (and nearly every other one she's ever had)… sitting alone in a quiet bar, not a friend in sight. Shame washes through her and she escapes to the bathroom before he can say anything else.

He doesn't make a big deal of it when she finally reemerges, but he brings flowers on her birthday every year after that – along with a cake that is big enough to feed more than one person.

 **K &EK&E**

They fall into a rhythm over the next few years, working together to raise Hope. There are still times when she looks at him and her blood races (okay, it's nearly every time she looks at him), but she never acts on them. Mostly because she doesn't see that same feeling crossing his face anymore (okay, she sees it occasionally but not nearly as often as she used to). And, besides, this is how she wants it.

Right?

Her life is nearly perfect. She's got a sweet and bubbly daughter who wants for nothing and a man who loves their little girl as much as she does. And they make quite the team – as Killian likes to say. And somewhere along the way, she's even amassed a group of loyal friends.

Yes, her life is more perfect than she'd ever dared hope for and risking that… well, she's not sure she wants to risk that…

Then again, she thinks to herself, staring a hole into the head of the redhead across the playground, maybe there's something she would risk… Like a quiet murder… Because there is absolutely no reason that… _woman_ needs to flaunt her obvious boob job quite so… blatantly.

Tightening her hand into a fist, she crosses the playground, barely stopping to wave to Hope who is at the top of the slide. Killian is a huge fan of the park. They meet here on a regular basis to drop off Hope since it's central between their apartments and it's certainly not the first time she's shown up for their swap to find him talking to some bimbo-looking-single-mother but there's something about it today that makes her hackles go up. It probably has something to do with the way Killian shuffles on his feet while he chats with the woman – and did he just scratch behind his ear?!

That endearing but tell-tale sign nearly stops her in her tracks and she has to grapple for breath because she's never once seen him do that to anyone outside their tight circle of friends. And it's only slightly mollifying when he sees her approaching and his eyes light up.

He immediately introduces her to the redhead – Caitlin is her name – and she's the mother of one of Hope's classmates.

It's a miracle that she's able to keep her voice polite.

"I was just telling Killian how much Abigail enjoyed the story he read to the class last week. Did he tell you about it?"

"No, he didn't," she replies while snakes snap around in her stomach.

"Yes, well, remember the day Hope left her coat at my place and I ran by the school to drop it off? Mrs. Gibson caught me in the hall and insisted I come in and before I knew it, I was holding a book of fairy tales. She's quite the formidable woman and turning her down didn't seem like a wise choice."

Emma almost laughs at that. Almost. Under normal circumstances she would. And under normal circumstances she'd tease him about what a pushover he is. Because, yes, while Hope's teacher is formidable, Killian probably jumped at the chance to read to the class. He absolutely adores reading aloud to Hope. But today, with these snakes taking bites out of her stomach, she just raises an eyebrow.

"Let me guess. Peter Pan, right?"

And if she feels like it's a victory when he shuffles and scratches behind his ear again before dashing away to gather Hope, she'd never admit it.

Her eyes follow him as he crosses the playground and she sees the woman beside her doing the same – along with several other women watching from the scattered benches circling the jungle gym.

She wants to excuse herself from and go after him, to grab him by the lapels of that black leather jacket and stake her claim on him in no uncertain terms, but the woman draws her into a conversation about the upcoming festival at school and she can't be _that_ rude. So she's stuck chatting for a minute, which turns into several minutes when the kids beg Killian to play pirates and princesses and, pushover that he is, he agrees.

To be honest, now that she's talking to the woman, it feels like an innocent exchange. She seems nice, like someone Emma would hang out with if she'd met her under different circumstances. But her eyes keep drifting back to Killian every so often and – wow – she's really got to get ahold of her murderous tendencies.

(Not that she can blame her. He's a stunning man and he's friendly to everyone. I mean, even the grandmothers fluff their hair when he's around and he treats every one of them, young or old, with the same gallant cordiality.)

It's not until a few months later that she realizes her murderous tendencies might just win after all…

Emma and the girls are out celebrating Mary Margaret's (finally) engagement. They're at a club around the corner from Killian's apartment that he'd recommended to them and who should walk in but 'little miss redhead' herself.

She's obviously a regular here. The bartender calls her by name and she doesn't even have to give her drink order before a longneck bottle of beer is opened and in front of her. And if she's a regular here, then there's every possibility that Killian learned of this place from her. Have they hung out here together before? Did they play pool together at that ancient pool table? Did he sit next to her at the end of the bar where she plants her generous, tightly-denim-clad –

"Earth to Emma," Ruby's voice breaks into her thoughts. "What are you looking - Wow, she's hot. Thinking of switching sides, are you?"

Emma immediately blushes, looking away, horrified when the other girls turn to check out the woman over their shoulders.

"I don't know what you're – "

"Isn't that the woman who lives in Killian's building?" Mary Margaret chimes in. "The one with the little girl… Abigail, I think."

Emma tries not to, but she can't stop her jaw from turning to brick with how hard she grits her teeth, which earns an interested look from Ariel.

"You don't like her, I take it."

"I don't know her well enough not to like her," she retorts and Ruby sniggers.

"You don't like her because she's hot and she lives in Killian's building."

When Emma remains stubbornly silent, Ruby nudges her arm. "Come on Ems, admit it: You're jealous."

She sends her a glare, "No, I'm not. Killian can do whatever, or whoever, he wants."

"And you think he's… _doing_ her?"

Emma just shrugs because she doesn't really know how to answer, glancing back to the woman as she walks over and picks up a pool cue from the rack on the wall, her traitorous mind conjuring up more images of Killian bending over the pool table with her to help her line up a shot, or bending her back over the pool for some other reason…

"Emma…" It's more the touch of Mary Margaret's hand landing on hers than the sound of her name that has her drawing a sharp breath. "Honey, please tell me you know better than that."

But she doesn't. Maybe at one time she did – years ago – back when he used to look at her with heat simmering in those ice blue eyes but now… Now she's not so sure. It's been a while since he's looked at her like that and… and maybe he's gotten over it. Maybe an uncomplicated woman who laughs easily and doesn't carry all the baggage she does is just what he needs.

The silence grows heavy and she looks up to see all her friends staring at her with concern and she realizes she'd just said all that aloud.

"I can't blame him," she goes on. "He's entitled to be happy…"

"Well, he's not doing _her,_ " Ruby says confidently.

"How do you know?"

"Girlfriend is on the prowl," she explains, nodding in her direction. "And you'd know better than me, of course, but I get the feeling Killian's the type to satisfy a woman so well that she wouldn't feel the need to look for… alternate company."

Pure relief runs through Emma. _He is. He's absolutely that type._ Still, it doesn't completely diminish the doubt. "But that doesn't mean he's not considering it."

"He's not considering it either," Ariel says sardonically.

"How do you _know_?" she asks again.

She can practically hear their eyes rolling. "Because he loves you, Emma," Mary Margaret puts in.

And mortifyingly, that has tears springing to her eyes. "He… doesn't. Why on earth would he?"

"Oh Emma," Ariel takes her free hand. "He absolutely adores you."

"He does," Ruby agrees.

"And you love him," Mary Margaret adds softly.

Emma wants to deny it – or possibly sink into a dark abyss to get out of admitting it – but they're all looking at her with such understanding and patience… and these women – these women know her – they know her in ways no one else does. _And_ they know Killian. And they look so sure of themselves that the truth slips from her mouth before she can stop it.

"Yeah, I do."

Then there's a moment – a moment when all of their expressions turn from concern to pride, a moment when she realizes just how blessed she is to have these women in her life. Women who never judge her, never push her. And she meets each of their eyes in turn, realizing that not only are they proud of her, but she's also proud of herself.

Mary Margaret breaks the moment, releasing her hand and sitting back in her chair with a blinding smile. "Well, now that you've finally admitted it, what are you going to do about it?"

"I… I don't…"

"Jump his bones," is Ruby's suggestion and they all laugh.

 **K &EK&E**

It's a few days later when he calls to ask if she'd like to join him and Hope for a trip to the children's museum and Emma feels butterflies in her stomach. But… It's not a date. He's not asking her out. They do this sort of thing all the time. They both treasure Hope too much to miss any of her 'firsts' and this outing just falls under that category.

But she does go out of her way to look nice. She does leave her hair down because he made a casual comment a while back about how lovely her hair looks that way. And she does put on her most expensive perfume.

She watches him carefully the whole day, still plagued with doubt no matter how sure her friends are. He's not acting interested. He's just Killian. Sure, he smiles and teases her a bit but his focus is almost completely on Hope – which is exactly where it should be.

It's not until they sit down to watch the dinosaur film that she notices it. She's hyper-aware of him now, so when his fingers unnecessarily brush her skin as he drapes his arm over Hope's shoulders, she glances his way and catches the little glimpse of tenderness that she would have missed before. Then later, at the pizza place, he does it again when he helps her with her coat, an unnecessary but slight graze of his fingers on the back of her neck.

But she still isn't sure. So she decides to test him.

They make it back to her place and she fidgets around the living room while he puts Hope to bed, surprised with how nervous she is. It's just Killian. This isn't something they haven't done a hundred times before. All she has to do is offer him a beer and he'll stay. There's no need to pace this floor trying to come up with a reason… She'll offer him a beer and –

And there he is, walking back into the living room, completely relaxed and comfortable in her home and for the first moment in maybe her entire life, she can see exactly what she wants her future to be.

She realizes she's smiling, her nerves momentarily forgotten and he smiles back.

"She's asleep?" she asks.

"She was asleep before I even laid her down," he tells her.

That makes her chuckle. "Yeah, she had a full day. Thank you for inviting me."

"Thank you for coming. It wouldn't have been the same without you."

It's an off-hand comment but her heart flutters at his sincerity and she turns away, grabbing at a few toys to keep her hands busy. It's a near thing when he meets her at the toy chest with a few toys of his own, but she manages not to suck in a breath at his sudden closeness. _God, does he have to smell so good all the time?_

She puts some distance between them because she needs air that doesn't smell of him if she's going to put together a coherent sentence, her mind grappling for some reason to get him to stay and, thankfully, she comes up with the perfect excuse.

"Mary Margaret told me that you're planning David's bachelor party."

He hesitates for half a second and her stomach plummets. "Yes, well being the Best Man and all, it's my job. And you're planning Mary Margaret's bachelorette party, I hear. No worries, lass, I know it's my night to have Hope and I've already arranged a sleepover for her with one of the mothers from her class so that we can both fulfill our duties."

"Oh? Which mother?" she asks.

 _It better not be…_ "Abigail's." _Of course it is…_ "You've met them before. She lives two stories down from me. She's a nurse and I've helped her out with Abigail a few times when she's had to work over, so she was happy to repay the favor."

Her confidence takes a knock as she mumbles under her breath, but she doesn't let it deter her. "Ruby said her mother would be happy to keep her, if we need it."

"While I'm sure Hope would love that, she's already excited about staying over with her friend, so maybe next time."

Let it go, Emma. Let it go, _now_. "Well, it was just a thought… Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Ruby and I wanted to do something special and we need a, ah… co-conspirator from the men's camp."

He raises that ridiculous eyebrow of his. "And what, exactly, would we be conspiring about, Swan?" he asks.

Her nerves are immediately abated and she snags a couple of beers before they settle on the couch so she can tell him her plan.

While she speaks, a slow and devastating smile blooms on his face that has in heart fluttering again. "Never knew you were such a romantic, Swan."

"I'm not," she denies, "It was Ruby's idea, not mine."

But her denial is futile. The man can read her like a book. "Uh huh," he says slowly, narrowing his eyes on her.

"Okay fine, maybe it was my idea. They've just been really good friends to me and I wanted to do something special for them."

His grin widens. "I do believe you've gone soft, darling."

Oh, if he only knew… "So, will you help?"

"Of course I will, love. _I_ don't deny being a romantic."

No, he doesn't. Why else would he bring her flowers every birthday?

"I know," she replies drawing a deep breath for courage.

This is it. This is the test.

Watching carefully, she takes his empty beer bottle, making sure to brush her fingers along his when she does it. And there it is, the slight darkening of his eyes that she'd been hoping for.

She smiles in victory as she walks to the kitchen to place their empty bottles into the recycling bin and takes a minute to catch her breath before she goes back to the living room.

 _Wow, that look had been pure sin._

 **K &EK&E**

She thinks about that look for the next week, visions of it creeping into her mind at all hours.

He wants her. There's no question. But, wanting isn't the same as loving. And maybe the reason he's never acted on the wanting is because that's all it is.

He's an honorable guy. And he adores his daughter. And he'd never do anything to endanger his relationship with her mother over something so shallow as simple sex.

But… but maybe he just knows her that well. Maybe he realizes how damaged and broken she is. She's never told him how similar their histories are but maybe… Maybe that's why he's never asked.

It's terrifying when she thinks of it, putting her heart out like that, laying everything on the line and giving him the power to crush her. Every other person she'd given that power to has done just that: crushed her.

But she can't deny it anymore. She loves him and she's going to have to do something about it before some other _uncomplicated_ woman comes swooping in to take him away.

Drinking will help.

Mary Margaret's bachelorette party is tonight and drinking will definitely help her work up the courage to find out exactly how he feels about her.

(And, if she doesn't like the answer, she can pretend tomorrow that she doesn't remember anything.)

(Yes, she realizes how fucked up that is.)

(But isn't the reason she's in this mess because of how fucked up she is?)

It goes exactly as she plans. She drinks and drinks and her inhibitions get lower and lower. She's got the courage to lean her head on his shoulder while they watch David and Mary Margaret dance together, and she doesn't even hesitate to warn off the simpering brunette who seeks him out not only once, but _twice_ – even after he blew her off earlier in the night.

She lucks out that there are only two empty chairs when they return from the bar with drinks for everyone. His brother, Liam, takes one and she's not about to pass this up, so she pushes Killian into the other and settles on his lap. It's a thrill when she notices how his knuckles go white on his glass and she doesn't miss the low groan that rumbles in his chest when she plays with his hair.

She also doesn't miss the looks her friends send her.

(Maybe she should have gotten their opinion on this little plan of hers, but she really wasn't in the mood to listen to them tell her how stupid it was. Because if they knew how calculated she's being, those looks would be disapproval instead of encouragement.)

(The thought sends a sharp pang of guilt through her system and she reaches for another shot.)

The DJ announces the final ballad and she drags him to the dance floor with her. Sitting on his lap had been encouraging but it was hard for her to spy on his expressions that way, so she really wants to be face to face with him for a while. He tries to keep some distance between them while they sway to the dreamy song but she's not having it tonight. Tonight, she lines her body up to his and grips at his hip to keep them close together. The song is nearly over when she realizes her intention to watch his expression has been completely forgotten, her eyes closed and her forehead resting against his the entire time. It feels perfect, though, so she doesn't pull away, but she does open her eyes just enough to examine the mouth that is so close to hers, noticing the quick intake of breath he takes when she runs her hand up his arm to settle it on the back of his neck.

The car ride back to her apartment is another matter. It's cold outside and the whipping wind that hit her before they climbed in sobered her a little. But she's still a little hazy, so she leans against him – he's so comfortable – and closes her eyes while the city lights streak by out the window.

She's nearly drifted off to sleep when they arrive at her apartment and she admonishes herself for it because this whole plan will be for nothing if she passes out now. Thank god for how much a gentleman Killian is when he catches her just before she faceplants on the pavement and thank god for the biting Maine wind that serves to sober her even more because, dammit, she doesn't want to _actually_ forget what happens.

She concentrates on sobering further during the elevator ride. His hand is warm in hers and she doesn't let go, her drink addled brain making her think that maybe she can pull some of his soberness from him if she hangs on.

She pulls him toward the couch as soon as they enter her apartment because her body is thrumming with the need to tuck herself into him without all their friends watching. She wants to bite that perfect neck of his that has tempted her too many times to count over the years. But he's directing her toward the kitchen first, insisting that she take some aspirin, and really, he thinks of everything.

And there's that neck, with its muscled cords tempting her like the fucking poison apple in the Garden of Eden and she just can't help herself. Her inhibitions are down enough that she's already up on her toes before she realizes what she's doing, inhaling his scent and barely resisting the urge to run her teeth over the sexiest freckle she's ever encountered in her life.

She hides her disappointment when he thrusts the glass into her hand like a shield, obediently plucking the aspirin from him and tossing it back.

When she lowers the glass, she catches the way he's watching her, a little wrinkle between his eyebrows like he's worried about how drunk she is, so she does her best to sound in full control when she thanks him for taking care of her.

"You'd do the same for me, Swan," he replies, scratching behind his ear.

It's the ear scratch that gives her the courage to go on. "I'm not just talking about tonight. You're always there when I need you and I don't thank you nearly enough. I know you do most of it because of Hope but - "

"I do it for both of you," he cuts her off.

And that's it. She's completely sober now. Because she realizes that's exactly what she needed to hear – and she didn't even have to trick it out of him. He cares for her as much as he does for Hope – who she knows he adores with every cell of his being – and he said it like it was simple fact.

So she dives for him, meeting his mouth with hers for the first time since the night that still haunts her dreams. And she does it without a single doubt in her mind.

His arms are strong and sure when they engulf her, his mouth as avid as hers when he returns the kiss but, gentleman that he is, he stops way too quickly.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows he's right to put on the brakes but she disregards what she knows and because this moment is too important and she doesn't want it to end yet, so she resorts to begging – _please, Killian_ – and putting enough pressure on his collar to bring their foreheads back together.

He groans low and deep and that's all she needs to press her lips back to his. Then he takes the kiss and runs with it, pulling her flush against his body and burying his hand in her hair. She glories in the fisting of his hand on the back of her sweater and in the way his body slides against hers when he dips his head to catch her bottom lip, her hand planting firmly on his back to slip her leg between his.

And, god, he's already hard, she can feel the erection even through both layers of clothes and the knowledge leaves her gasping.

And then he's pulling away again, grounding out her name like it's a prayer and – _jesus_ , she loves the sound of her name on his lips.

His eyes are impossibly wrecked, blown wide with want and confusion, and she's suddenly reminded of the way he looked at her on the night they met. It was the same look then. Like he didn't quite believe she was real. It's the look that scared her even when it gave her hope. The same one that had chiseled out the first brick of the wall she'd built around herself. And seeing it again now makes her understand that he's managed to whittle away every single brick, scattering them in every direction. Slowly and steadily, he's demolished her defenses and she never wants to erect them again.

She almost tells him ( _Christ, she wants to tell him_ ), but she holds it back – not because she has any doubts left but because _he_ would doubt it if she said it right now. She's drunk and he knows it and no matter how lucid this realization is, he'd never believe it when she's this impaired. So she goes with another confession instead.

"Do you remember the night we made Hope?"

His eyes darken to nearly black and his breath catches, planting his forehead against hers before he answers in a gritty voice, "I remember every detail, love."

"So do I… I remember everything," she admits. And she does. She remembers every single detail, "I dream about it sometimes… about what it was like to be with you."

"I dream about it, too," he confesses, the severity of his accent telling her how true the words are.

She can't stop herself from kissing him again and she wouldn't want to try. Her body is starved for him, memories of the last time they did this rushing into her mind. But it's not only those memories that have her directing him toward the couch. There's also the memories of him smiling at her from across the room, winking at her over Hope's head, extending his hand to her to help her down a wobbly flight of steps. And with each memory, the tug in her stomach gets stronger, the emotions all-consuming.

His hands are everywhere, cupping her cheek one second and grabbing at her ass in the next. His mouth is open to hers and she nibbles at his upper lip even as he bites down on her lower one. They're perfectly matched, just like that first night, their bodies instinctively knowing where to touch and how much pressure to use to drive the other into madness.

She doesn't know where on earth the lamp comes from but she's pretty sure it's not the alcohol that has her tripping over it. Still, it's enough for Killian to slow things down, telling her that she's drunk and they shouldn't be doing this right now.

She tries to convince him that it's not the liquor – because it's _not,_ and _please_ , she doesn't want to stop now… Her head is fuzzy with love and she tries one last time to tempt him by rubbing her hand over his throbbing erection but… well, he's Killian and he's too damn honorable.

"Tomorrow," he gasps, putting firm hands on her shoulders and forcing her to look him in the eye, "Tell me this tomorrow. I want you, Swan. All of you. And if we do this and you regret it in the morning I... Tell me this when you're sober and clear-headed and I promise, I'll give you everything, everything I have to give."

He looks desperate. And guilty. And while she's pretty sure she could talk him into this, she also knows he'd beat himself up for it afterwards. Because while _she_ knows it wouldn't be just a quick fuck, he wouldn't – not for sure, anyway. So she releases his collar and walks away without another word before she changes her mind.

She'll tell him tomorrow. She'll _convince_ him tomorrow. Because now, she'll have to courage to do it 'sober and clear-headed.'

But tomorrow there's a wedding. A wedding they both have to attend.

 **K &EK&E**

She hydrates like a madwoman as soon as she wakes up, downing a near gallon of water and several more aspirins. It takes a great deal of restraint not to call him immediately but while she'd like to, she doesn't want to rush this conversation and… there's a wedding today that they can't be late for.

She manages to fend off her friends' questions regarding last night while they get the bride ready – today is about Mary Margaret, not her – but Ruby sends her a knowing glance when Killian drops off Hope because there's no mistaking the tension in his shoulders when he catches a glimpse of her.

She wishes she could chase after him to relieve that tension but Mary Margaret needs help with her veil and she _is_ the Maid of Honor, after all.

He watches her with unmasked adoration as she walks down the aisle and she tries to waylay his nerves with a smile of her own. But it seems their history still has him disbelieving and there's nothing she can do about it until she can get him alone.

But she can't get him alone yet. They're in the middle of a wedding. Still, she tries again when they're walking out, her arm linked in his.

"Later," she whispers to him, hoping he understands that it's the promise she means it to be.

And maybe that's enough to convince him since his eyes soften to a cool blue that has her stomach somersaulting. Or maybe not, since they're back to questioning when they get ready for their dance – and this time she doesn't have time to reassure him before Hope is there, begging to dance with her daddy.

She's going to have to do something more blatant, she thinks to herself. And when she comes up behind him, her heart melting at the way Hope's head is laying against his shoulder while David and Mary Margaret climb into their fairy-tale looking carriage, she goes for it.

She wraps her arm around his waist while they wave goodbye to the newlyweds, then takes it a step further by brushing her lips over his and asking for a ride home, making sure to add that she's only had one glass of champagne.

He looks stunned but delighted and he agrees, carrying Hope to the car and opening her door for her before buckling Hope into her car seat.

They both stay quiet during the drive so that Hope won't wake up and they put her to bed together when they arrive back at her place. He still looks nervous and she realizes she's nervous now, too, but she takes his hand anyway and pulls him along with her to the couch, determined to be brave tonight even without liquid courage.

But the nerves are suddenly overwhelming and she can't make herself meet his eyes, so she traces the hand she's still holding and looks at it instead. "I'm sorry about last night. You were right. I was drunk and I never should have put you in that position."

"It's alright, love. We can pretend it never happened if you want."

His answer not only stuns her but also brings back every fear she's ever had to the surface, her heart freezing in her chest as she looks away. "Is that what you want? To pretend it never happened?"

"God, _no_ , Emma. I just…"

 _Oh, thank god._

"I told you a long time ago I'm not good at this." And she's not. She _sucks_ at it. "I'm not _good_ at… at talking about… But I never… I never told you _why_."

Then she tells him about her past. Something she's never shared with anyone. She tells him how she was abandoned when she was a baby, and abandoned again when the Swans sent her away – and she can see the molten fury on his face before he pulls her forward into his arms, his voice hoarse with sympathy when he tells her how sorry he is.

She takes comfort from his warmth and swallows hard before she continues, "I was moved around a lot after that. I was never in one place for more than six months until I aged out of the system."

She puts pressure on his chest so she can look him in the eye while she tells him the last of it because this is the most important part, even if she has to stutter through it.

"I never had anyone I could count on. Never. I was always alone… until I met you. And you… You _changed_ me. You made me want to trust you. When I found out I was pregnant, I almost didn't tell you. I was terrified because even that first night you made me feel things I didn't want to feel. But I couldn't _not_ tell you… And then you were there… every time I needed you, you were there… and I told myself it was just because you wanted Hope, not me, because _no one_ has ever wanted _me_ but I think maybe, maybe you do? And maybe – "

"I do, Emma. I do want you… in every way possible."

She's so stunned she can't think of a single reply but, as always, he comes to her rescue, leaning forward to rub their noses together.

"And I don't just _want_ you, darling. I _love_ you… more than anyone I've ever known – except maybe our daughter – and if you let me, I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

And this time the reply is easy. "I love you, too."

His face lights up, his smile blinding as she urges him to his feet and walks him to her room.

Their first time together had been intense – and more meaningful than any other sexual experience Emma had ever encountered – but tonight…

Tonight, it's a thousand times more. Every kiss carries a message, every caress a declaration. They're letting go of their painful pasts and looking ahead into a brighter future. It's slow and dreamy and everything the phrase 'making love' is supposed to imply. Because that's what it is. It's love in it's truest form. It's the stripping of souls to lay them bare in front of the one person that you know will treasure them. And they do treasure them. They treasure each other like fine porcelain, gently and reverently building the passion until it bursts through them.

She's deliriously happy when she floats down from her second high, Killian breathing heavily into her neck in the wake of his own bliss. And the words are out of her mouth before she even considers what she's saying.

"Where are we going to live?"

She's caught him by surprise but she doesn't regret the words, so she continues as though his shoulders haven't gone suddenly stiff, rubbing her lips over his forehead, "Your place is closer to Hope's school, but Mary Margaret and David are going to be living in her apartment now and it would be nice to have a couple of built-in babysitters a door away."

He stays quiet for another second and she thinks maybe she's pushed too far, so she opens her eyes to meet his. "Too soon?" she asks.

He doesn't answer with words – but he does use his mouth, delivering a kiss so enthusiastic that she giggles.

"While I liked that answer, it really doesn't _answer_ the question. Where do you think we should live?"

He's grinning like a fool and, when he finally says something, it's her who's caught by surprise. "Marry me, Emma."

She doesn't answer with words either, and by the time they break apart they're both laughing.

"While I liked that answer, it really doesn't – "

"Yes!"

Their chests are still shaking with laughter when they fall into the pillows together and she snuggles into his side.

"I think we should live here," he whispers into her temple.

 **K &EK&E**

They announce their new relationship to their friends as soon as David and Mary Margaret return from their honeymoon two weeks later.

To say their friends are happy for them is an understatement. The girls take her out to lunch a couple of weeks after that just so they can grill her for all the details. It's a fun afternoon, full of girl-talk and teasing and no one seems to notice that she doesn't take an actual drink from the champagne flute in front of her.

When she gets home, she's cleaning up Hope's room when the picture on the wall catches her attention and she stares at it while emotion fills her lungs.

 _Faith, Hope, Love._

Years ago, when she bought that, she'd had none of those things in her life, and she'd bought it to remind herself to make sure her child had all three.

Now, though, her life is full of hope. Killian had given her that years ago. And it's full of love. He'd given her that, too. But the most important thing he's given her is faith - faith enough that she was able to take that hope and love and make the biggest and most important leap of her life.

And, of course, it was Killian who'd caught her.

She reads the words again as her hand unconsciously drifts to her stomach. She already suspects she's pregnant, but she hasn't said anything to Killian yet. She wanted to wait until she'd picked up a pregnancy test before telling him and she still hasn't had time. But, suddenly, she's impatient. She wants to know now. So she texts Mary Margaret and asks if Hope can come over for a little while so she can make a quick trip to the store. (It really is nice to have a babysitter next door.)

On her way back from the drugstore she texts Killian to make sure he'll be home on time. And she tries to wait until he gets home but that pink box is calling to her like a siren and she can't wait _any longer_.

She's standing at the sink in their bathroom, holding her breath as she watches the display when she hears Killian's voice.

"Emma? Is everything alright, love?"

Is everything _alright_?Everything is _perfect_ , she wants to tell him, but she can't seem to wrap her lips around the words because that second blue line just popped up and…

"Emma? Are you…? Is that a… a pregnancy test?"

He's looks as shocked as she is when she turns to him, and she feels the smile spread across her face. "I guess we're batting a thousand, sailor."

He's smiling back instantly and then rushing forward to pull her into his arms.

"If it's a girl, I think we should name her Faith," she whispers into his ear.

"Faith, Hope and Love," he replies and rubs her nose with his. "That's perfect… _love_."


End file.
